


Keep the Goddess on My Side

by Alexandria (heartfullofelves)



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/F, Mugging, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/pseuds/Alexandria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabrielle’s knight in shining armour wants to play hard to get. Gabrielle won’t let her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep the Goddess on My Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercutioLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercutioLives/gifts).



> Title from the song Take Me to Church by Hozier. 
> 
> I live in New Zealand and went with a setting I know, but this could also take place in the UK and possibly other countries. 
> 
> This is my first Xena fic but I’m excited about it and I hope it is a worthy gift!

It wasn’t late but it was dark when Gabrielle walked home tipsy from her farewell party. After two years of conducting historical research and attending archaeological digs both up north and overseas, two fascinating years that had somehow lacked fulfilment, she’d decided to return to her old job teaching History and Classics at her local grammar school, where just walking into the classroom brought a smile to her face. Her research team had taken her to the pub and given her the sweetest thank you speeches, and she’d almost cried like a baby. She _had_ excused herself to the ladies, but that was because she’d got an eyelash in her eye. Really.

She stumbled down the street in high spirits, almost tripping over her high heels and then giggling at her clumsiness, and was just about to start singing _Ten Green Bottles_ when a large hand clamped her shoulder and a voice growled in her ear, “Let me help you with your handbag, darling.”

She struggled against her captor, who’d crushed her against his chest, but his arms were the size of her legs and she was stuck fast. “Now listen to me,” she scolded the faceless thug in her teacher voice, not realising she was slurring. “I’m just a small dumb blonde getting less than minimum wage. There’s nothing in that bag that could possibly be of value to you. I don’t even own an iPhone!” It was a bit of a stretch, but with luck…

“The Italian bag says otherwise,” stated a new voice, feminine and as cool as the soil Gabrielle had excavated on her digs.

She stilled to take in the approaching woman, tall and raven-haired, face half in shadow in the orange glow of the streetlamps. Gabrielle thought she could make out blue eyes made of steel. “I’ll have you know I got it from a work-”

“ _But_ ,” the woman cut her off, “that doesn’t make stealing okay.” With a couple of rapid-fire moves that Gabrielle couldn’t keep up with, she removed the mugger’s arms from Gabrielle’s person and pulled them behind his back. She let out a self-satisfied “Aha!” and slammed him into the brick wall on the side of the pavement.

Gabrielle shook her head to clear the alcohol-induced haze from her mind, then looked down at her left shoulder and gasped. The bastard had taken her leather handbag from Milan! Her other shoulder seemed to be weighed down by something though, so she inspected it, and oh, there was the bag.

Her attention switched to all the swearing coming out of the mugger’s mouth. Her saviour was giving him an earful about taking advantage of drunk girls (Gabrielle was tempted to shout, “I’m twenty-eight!” but refrained) and finished with the age-old advice to “pick on someone your own size.”

As soon as she let him go after making him promise not to do it again, the man scampered.

Once her breathing returned to normal, Gabrielle checked that her wallet was still in her bag, and when she turned to thank the mystery woman and maybe ask her out for coffee, there was no-one there.

* * *

Gabrielle walked into the staffroom at 12:30 on the third day of Term 1. She’d spent the week catching up with old colleagues and students she’d taught in the past and was teaching a second time, but of course there were plenty of new faces since she’d left two years ago. She was meeting fellow teachers every day with a bright smile and a strong handshake, and enjoying starting fresh topics with each of her classes, beginning to familiarise herself with names and faces she hadn’t seen before that year.

Hungry after a morning of teaching – she wasn’t used to being at work so early and had to get re-accustomed to it – she headed straight to the kitchenette, where she made herself a cheese and ham toasted sandwich. As she waited for the toastie machine to do its work, a tall figure reached from behind her into the cupboard above her head and grabbed a coffee mug.

“Excuse _me_ ,” she snapped, swivelling around to face the rude person who had just _reached over her head_. She had her finger pointed in accusation, but the figure was standing so close she ended up poking their breast. Her mouth dropped when she recognised the teacher in front of her.

The tall woman, black-haired with a classic fringe and great cheekbones, stared back, glanced down at the finger on her breast, and nudged it away.

“It’s _you_ ,” Gabrielle gasped as she retracted her arm, still gawking at the woman in front of her, the knight in shining armour who had saved her handbag from a fate worse than death.

“Hmm?” The mystery woman tilted her head and licked her lips, as if trying to solve a difficult problem, but Gabrielle caught a glimmer of recognition (and dare she believe interest?) in those piercing blue eyes.

 _Eyes are the window to the soul indeed_ , thought Gabrielle, unable to look away from the woman. She couldn’t help wondering if her darkest secrets were being read even as she felt she was discovering the other woman’s. _Nod if you can read my thoughts._

Just then, the Social Sciences Head of Department, Janice Covington, who looked like Gabrielle’s sister to another mister, walked up. “Oh, Gabrielle, this is Xena Amphipolis, the Physical Education HOD,” she introduced the dark-haired woman. “Xena, meet Gabrielle Potidaea, our returning History and Classics mastermind.”

So her saviour had a name after all. _Not a mystery woman anymore._

Gabrielle couldn’t quite stifle an awkward laugh. “You flatter me,” she told her boss with a playful, stern gaze. “Nice to meet you…Xena.” She tried to raise one eyebrow. “Is that a Greek name?”

“Likewise, Gabrielle.” Xena left Gabrielle’s eyebrow-raising attempts in the dust. _Damn!_ “And yes, my parents were immigrants.”

“You’ll probably see Xena out on the school field from your classroom window a lot,” Janice murmured in Gabrielle’s ear as she walked away with a wink.

She was given no time to respond as the toastie machine let her know that her lunch was ready. Xena smirked, and moved down the bench to spoon instant coffee into her mug. As Gabrielle put her toastie on her plate and grabbed a knife and fork, she couldn’t help admiring the PE teacher’s muscular arms and legs and wondering how it would feel to have those strong limbs wrapped around her.

“Stop it!” she hissed. _Be professional_ , she reminded herself.

“Eh?”

“Nothing. See you around.” She beamed at Xena and took her lunch to a table on the opposite side of the room, joining the other two History teachers, both of whom were old friends.

* * *

Janice hadn’t lied. For reasons unknown to all, the Social Sciences block was close enough to the school field that students inside the classrooms could identify their exercising peers and be distracted from their lessons. The department had been trying to move for years, but it seemed that the other departments had the same disputes.

Gabrielle was explaining the Bolshevik Revolution to her Year 12 History students when she saw movement out on the field. Whilst continuing her lesson, she inched closer to the window in order to get a better view.

Xena – Miss Amphipolis – was running along with a plastic hockey stick, dribbling the ball as her ponytail swished behind her. Her demonstration was watched by a group of students whom Gabrielle guessed to be Year 9s, judging from the state of their PE uniforms. Xena slowed her pace, and whacked the tennis ball into the goal.

“Miss?”

Gabrielle jumped, and switched her attention back onto her class. “Yes?”

“What were the April Theses again?”

She offered her students an apologetic smile for the momentary absence of her brain, and answered their questions until she was satisfied that they knew enough about the day’s topic to do a worksheet. She handed them out, then sat at her desk to revise her lesson plan for first period on Monday.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of a whistle distracted her, and she frowned out the window. The PE class was now playing what looked vaguely like hockey while their teacher umpired, running up and down the field with a whistle in her mouth.

An inappropriate image entered Gabrielle’s head and she entertained it before she could dismiss it. _Oh no_ , she thought with horror, _I have sunk so far that I am jealous of a bloody_ whistle.

“Miss Potidaea,” sang the class clown, “are you checking out Miss Amphipolis?”

She turned to her cheeky student and said, “Why, do you think she’s worth my checking her out?”

The class laughed. “That means yes!” another Year 12 called out, causing sniggering all round.

“I’ll be sure to pass that on when I next see her,” Gabrielle promised with a smirk. “Now get on with your worksheets, there’s only eight minutes left of class and I haven’t assigned your homework yet.”

Her class groaned.

When the bell signalled the end of the hour-long period, Gabrielle glanced out the window once more. The Year 9s were crossing the field to get to the last class of the day, their teacher invisible from her perspective, when the plan made itself known inside her head. She was going to get her knight, and the game Xena was playing with her would not stop her.

Abandoning her lesson plan, she instructed her Year 13 Classics students to get into groups and write a short poem in the style of one of the ancients they’d touched on either this year or last. She gave each group one of the Greeks’ four different types of love to prompt their writing.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s terrible,” she reassured them as they all looked at her like they’d woken up from a confusing dream. “You can write a parody if you want, but I want them all handed in before the end of class, because then we’ll play a Kahoot.”

The quiz, played on their phones, was the highlight of each lesson, and Gabrielle often exploited its use as a bribe for her disillusioned Year 13s. They picked up their pens and got to work.

Gabrielle opened a new Word doc on her laptop and stared at the blank page for five whole minutes before she began to write too. She typed one line, in which she invoked the Muse, before she stood up and went into the supply cupboard, searching for Sappho. When she found the book she was after, she set it next to her cordless mouse, opened to her favourite part, and wrote for the remainder of the period.

After all that, they never got their game of Kahoot, as the students were too wrapped up in their poems to notice the time passing, and they slapped their works down on the teacher’s desk before running to freedom.

Gabrielle wasn’t far behind them though, as she printed off her poem, packed away her laptop, and left the room. She headed straight for the PE office and, feeling like a shy Year 9, asked if she could have a word with Miss Amphipolis. Xena’s surprised smile as she stood up and took Gabrielle to an empty classroom confirmed her suspicions and made her hands stop shaking.

She sucked in two deep breaths to calm her racing heart, and read out the poem. In between stanzas, she glanced up and watched as the other woman went from confusion to amusement and ended up with a broad grin that didn’t need much analysing.

When she’d finished reading it out, she gave it to Xena to keep, and made sure to let their fingers brush as she handed it over. Xena took the poem with one hand and grasped Gabrielle’s wrist with the other. Gabrielle shivered and Xena’s lips formed an O at the electricity their touch seemed to have caused. It took all her self-control not to joke about being struck by Zeus’s thunderbolt or Cupid’s arrow, and hoped Xena appreciated what not making the joke cost her.

Still, to let the other woman know she had a great sense of humour, Gabrielle said, “I’m thinking of retiring so I can write Sapphic poetry about elusive knights in shining armour for the rest of my life. That was my first one but I think I’m a natural.”

It had the desired effect: Xena threw back her head and laughed, not releasing her hold on Gabrielle for one moment.


End file.
